


Chance

by elfin



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Mentalist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a drive, Patrick and Walter meet Dom and Brian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Just nonsense. I have no idea why I wrote this or what it's for.

‘So this is how you spend your weekends? Driving aimlessly up the coast, polluting the atmosphere, using up the planet’s scarce resources?’

He rolled his head over the plush headrest and smiled at Walter who was sitting behind the wheel of the ostentatious red Ferrari, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

‘Live a little, Patrick.’

Shaking his head, rolling his eyes towards the clear blue sky, he sat while they waited for the lights to turn green.

Before they did, an even more ostentatious car pulled up along side them: bright orange, silver decals along the side, a blond male model and a shaven-headed brute in the front. 

The brute turned and looked at Walter’s car with disdain. Leaning forward, the male model grinned without malice, called across,

‘What’s that worth?’

Patrick shrugged. ‘The one I drove off a cliff was two hundred grand. I don’t know about this one. It’s his.’

The blondie laughed, open and genuine, but it was the brute who asked with a smile, ‘You drove his car off a cliff?’

‘Technically I just forgot to put the handbrake on. No one was in it at the time.’

The blond, difficult to pin down. The brute, not a brute, Patrick could see that now. His mannerisms were too gentle.

‘This one built this car for me because he owed me,’ he said. ‘The last one got blown up.’

Patrick laughed. ‘I don’t want to know, do I?’

‘I don’t think you do, my friend.’

Blondie called over, ‘Where you headed?’

Patrick had to defer to Walter. ‘Santa Monica.’

‘Us too. Race you to the beach.’ It was a challenge Walter would take up, he knew. Because that’s what he did, looking for the next rush, the next high. Patrick stopped him.

‘Don’t,’ he murmured, hand dropping easily to Walter’s thigh, saying loud enough for the other two to hear, ‘Look at them: motor oil stains, torn shirts. Petrolheads. Car’s probably tricked out better than Dynamo.’

Blondie laughed; happy. Patrick had never met anyone so innately happy before. ‘Okay, spoilsport. Maybe see you there.’

He nodded. ‘I want to ride the Octopus.’

~

He spotted them again as the sun set: at the end of the pier, leaning over the wooden rail, body language excluding everyone but one another. Patrick watched as blondie leaned in and either spoke into brute’s ear or kissed his neck. He averted his eyes, embarrassed and not sure why.

Walter let him ride the roller coaster a few times. Charlotte had always called it the Octopus, because of the great big metal arms at the entrance to Pacific Park on the pier. The third time, Patrick asked him why he was putting up with this, and Walter said it was because it made him happy, and he was making it a daily goal to make him happy. Patrick couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just humouring him: it was one of the reasons he thought maybe he could love the man, because on the odd occasion, he couldn’t tell.

They strolled down the boardwalk as neon replaced the California sun, heading for the place that did the shrimp. Brute and blondie were already sitting outside. Blondie waved at them so Patrick headed for the table, mostly because he couldn’t keep thinking of the tall, gangly guy as ‘blondie’.

‘Hey!’ He smiled that same big, white smile as Patrick stepped up. ‘Did you enjoy the Octopus?’

Patrick beamed, trying for once to reach his own eyes with his smile. This guy’s smiles used his whole face. 

‘Yes. Thank you.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Patrick.’

‘Brian.’ He had a strong handshake. ‘This is Dom.’

‘This is Walter.’

‘Join us.’

Patrick shrugged. ‘Sure?’ He glanced at the brute - Dom - who was smiling too, easy, just not the same dizzying level of wattage. He nodded, sitting back, extending the invitation. Any friend of Brian’s…. Patrick could see what was between them: chemistry notched up to an art form, not obvious to the untrained eye, he would bet.

Walter went inside and bought out four beers, going back for shrimp. Brian and Dom probably thought he was checking up on them, making sure they weren’t trouble. It was more likely the other way around. Patrick had been smacked in the face too many times for saying something inappropriate, crossing some line or other. Walter was vigilant.

They were all good. Brian was doing most of the talking, Patrick got the impression it happened a lot. He was asking about the car he’d let fall off a cliff, why he called it the Octopus, why they were out there on the coastal road, where they’d come from. He didn’t pry about Walter. Dom was quiet but not withdrawn, polite not friendly. When he looked at Brian, it made Patrick’s heart feel like it was being squeezed.

When Walter came back with two plates of shrimp, Patrick watched him do a quick mental sweep for any tension or animosity before he sat down. He came over all arrogant, rich prat to most people, but he was only one, on occasion two, of those things. If he didn’t possess a certain level of intellect, Patrick would never have been interested, or rather intrigued, in the first place. He’d been wooed, as he’d put it, after the flood of gifts into the office - flowers, fresh coffee and muffins at breakfast, a car - he’d finally accepted a dinner date. 

He flashed up a smile promising all was well.

‘So, what are you two doing out here?’ he asked, just making conversation. ‘You didn’t want to ride the Octopus?’

‘Needed a break from the crazy,’ Dom replied, the first actual piece of information he’d offered up about them, and Patrick felt like he’d been given something tiny, rare and precious. They were being trusted, he and Walter, who had been quickly engaged by Brian in a conversation about his car collection. 

They were an odd pair. Watching Dom was like watching a bear at rest, content for the moment, capable of anything once roused and motivated. He’d lay money on Brian being one of those motivations. Brian, he imagined, was only still when he was asleep. He was like a spring, constantly in motion, boundless energy, friendly and open and yet there was something… something under the surface shine, like subtle scratches in a car’s paintwork, polished and buffed but still there if you looked hard enough.

He couldn’t put his finger on what it was: something old, unused for a time, not a secret exactly, more like an alternate identify, long since buried and forgotten about, dusty, like old photographs stored in a loft. 

They were two entirely different people, yet somehow they interlocked: two parts of a complex puzzle, those twists of metal that dropped out of expensive christmas crackers. 

He glanced over at Walter, totally out of his depth and absolutely in his element. Patrick liked to think, most of the time at least, he was enough to hold Walter’s attention, could keep him from the clutches of boredom; the rich man’s kryptonite apparently. But Brian was something new, and Walter had always been drawn to shiny things. Patrick didn’t mind, he didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Besides, no way was Walter Brian’s type - too old, too staid, too dull. 

He suspected Brian and Dom’s idea of excitement was to have been in the car when it went off the cliff. Besides, Brian was most definitely off the market and while Dom might let friends… no - family - close, strangers were likely to lose limbs if they overstepped.

Patrick ate his shrimp. It was good shrimp.

~

When he finally figured it out, it caught him mid-sentence, between the words ‘underpaid’ and ‘consultant’. He stuttered once, the sheer size of it taking him by surprise. That it was something Dom and Brian had already worked through enough to take his breath away.

He kept it to himself. Dom bought another round of beers and they had ice-cream for dessert. Dom tried to pay but Walter waved him off, refusing. By then, Walter’s business, at least the highlights, and his wealth, weren’t secrets. Dom and Brian accepted the small token with good grace and said goodbye when the bottles were empty.

Patrick hooked his arm through Walter’s while they walked to the car, folding his fingers into his lover’s palm.

‘Brian was a cop,’ he murmured, and Walter turned his head, to hear him properly, or to question him, he wasn’t sure but he went on. ‘Undercover. Dom was pulling some stupid stunts, stupid enough to get noticed by the LAPD. Maybe the FBI. Brian was the cop sent to bring him in but he didn’t. Obviously, he fell in love. Sweet, really. Very romantic.’

Walter was smiling. ‘And now?’

‘Now…. I don’t know. They looked legit. Slate’s wiped clean for some reason. I don’t know. I just…. That’s huge, isn’t it? I mean, imagine telling someone that big and mean-looking that you were just pretending. Although clearly he wasn’t, so maybe it was okay.’

Walter squeezed his hand, and Patrick could see the amusement in his eyes, next to the white of the street lights and the neon of the beachfront bars and cafes.

‘It worked out in the end,’ Walter pointed out. ‘He didn’t look to be missing any limbs.’ Patrick chuckled, low and genuine. Mostly his laughter was real around Walter, another reason he was with him. ‘I guess it must be love.’

Love. Or something more. Patrick felt a rare flare of envy precede an overwhelming sense of happiness. If two people who started from such opposite places could come together, and stay together, given those odds, there was chance for anyone. Chance even for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Published Fiction](http://www.madeleine-marsh.com/)


End file.
